Tuesday, Karl Lagerfeld left this world. Chanel-ites drew the shades and lowered their veils. Though he may have been insanely creative and have the work ethic of ten men, his opinions catapulted the man over the top. He veered into hated territory when pronouncing Adele fat. Mademoiselle Choupette may tame your hatred.
What will become of Her Serene Highness, loveliest of creatures, model, Instagram celebrity and beacon of snark lovers worldwide? Her Insta on Wednesday (face peering through black veiled pillbox ala Jackie O) “Thank you everyone for your words of condolence. With a once cold but now simply broken heart, I am going into mourning. I pray that your kind words and well wishes will help me to put my best paw forward in my future without Daddy @karllagerfeld and as my own woman.”
Does the heart not shatter? What’s that you say–a typo–“best paw forward.” No error, sweet Dolls. Miss Choupette is a cat. Of course she is. Only a feline can understand the black hole that is the heart of those who’ve mastered snark. Those of us who pass judgement on every shoe, skirt length, eyeliner wing and whether you favor poly blends are really just kittens incarnate, claws relocated to the verbal.
It’s not that Miss Choupette will want for material things. She did, after all inherit his entire 300 million dollar fortune. Word is she retains the mansion, her expansive bedroom and the two, count ’em two, maids that cater to her needs, including twice daily brush outs. She is a beauty–a Birman (not to be confused with Birkin–both rare in the wild) with gold and tan flecks through her shimmery white mane. Her blue eyes melt hearts. Thank God she shared a cover with Giselle so someone could upstage that girl.
She inherited her father’s love of the outrageous. She has her own seat on the jet, a chair at the dinner table and naps under a pillow. The pampered one joined Lagerfeld one Christmas when he agreed to care for a model’s cat. The model returned in a week. Lagerfeld refused to return Choupette. The rest is history.
He famously slammed dear Coco when he took the reigns of the fashion house, “Chanel was a sleeping beauty. Not even a beautiful one. She snored…So I was to revive a dead woman.” Mon Dieu, Mr. Nasty. But then he brought back the quilted bag and two tone shoes and we forgave him. Except when the bag was multi-colored. Pfft. Did you learn nothing of the LV massacre of taste in the early 2000’s sir?
And there was the commentary.
“I’m very much down to earth, just not this earth.”
“Sweatpants are a sign of defeat. You lost control of your life so you bought some sweatpants.”
“Those social networks, there’s something sad about them…It’s like a talkative mirror where people talk to themselves. And what I hate most in life is selfies.”
“Trendy is the last stage before tacky.”
I know. You’re dying of squee. We glean where Mme Choupette gets it. Visit her early and often here.
May your dear papa rest in size 28 jeans always Choupette my love.
The Duchess Diaries 